A Spirit Beautiful and Bright
by Mr. Gregor Samsa
Summary: After their victory over Pitch, Jack finds the Nightmare King half frozen in the wilderness, nearly dead. As Jack attempts to nurse him back to health, the two begin to piece together Pitch's distant memories to discover the man he used to be. But will Jack be able to truly save the spirit? Jack/Pitch, Jack/Aster(a bit), rated T for feels, COMPLETE!


_My first RotG fic. I decided to post it all in one go as opposed to uploading many chapters. I hope you find this format pleasing.  
I tried to make this story one of my best. I loved Rise of the Guardians and was very pleased with the depth they allowed in their villain. Here's my exploration of that. Any back story incorporated was taken from the RotGwiki. I haven't read the books (but plan to), and therefor took some creative liberty with some of the situations._

_Enjoy the story! _

_(The title is taken from the poem by "I Am Not Yours," by Sarah Teasdale. I implore you to look up the choral rendition of the song on youtube. It's hauntingly beautiful.)_

* * *

**A Spirit Beautiful and Bright**

_"Your past is always your past. Even if you forget it, it remembers you."  
- Sarah Dessen_, What Happened to Goodbye

It was a cold night with a clear sky, the light of the luminescent moon reflecting off a thin sheet of snow that covered the ground creating a perpetual twilight. Jack knew it would be one of the last snows Burgess would see for a while. Spring was around the corner, flowers already beginning to bloom as the southern birds slowly made their way back north. He could feel the change in his bones, the onset of warmth making him itch for colder places. With a final goodbye to Jamie, left in the form of a beautiful ice pattern on the boy's window, Jack caught the North Wind, content to ride it for the rest of the night.

It had been a little under a month since the Guardians had "defeated" Pitch. To his chagrin, Jack couldn't stop his thoughts from replaying their conversation in Antarctica over and over again. He had convinced himself, for the most part, that Pitch's words had been only fabrications of true feeling and that the spirit couldn't really feel or love or long for anything. But a niggling sensation in the back of his mind kept him wondering.  
_  
"To long for... a family..."_

Jack shook his head to clear his thoughts, focusing on the lift of the Wind beneath him. He had probably crossed over into Canada by now and would reach the cold, northern regions of the country by daybreak. He hoped to wait out Spring, Summer, and Fall above the Arctic Circle before sweeping down south once more, bringing an extra icy chill with him. He could always head to the southern hemisphere to enjoy their winter, but an overwhelming need for isolation left him content to leave the Seasons to their own devices. The ancient spirits of the Earth were much older and even less communicative than the Man in the Moon.

The Aurora Borealis streaked across the sky above him, making Jack twist onto his back to watch the marvel as the Wind carried him farther north. He smiled, thinking fondly of North and his workshop. The man was a welcomed mentor to Jack. Not in a fatherly way, really, but more like an eccentric uncle, and that was just fine. Jack chuckled, his thoughts continuing to wander until a sudden pull of energy from below made him pause, spreading out his arms to slow the current's pull. After a moment of hovering, he asked the Wind to let him down, curiosity getting the better of him.

The barren, snow-covered landscape of the northern islands of Canada gleamed in the darkness of the long night. Jack inhaled deeply, the taste of magic on the back of his throat. It was the same feeling he got when a Guardian was near, but it was somehow different. This magic was heavier, thicker, and… fading? Jack's bare feet touched down and he began to lightly creep across the thick blanket of snow, never breaking the surface. There was definitely a spirit here, and after another quick breath Jack knew immediately who it was. He leapt into the gentle wind current, which carried him a couple hundred feet to the edge of a thick, coniferous forest.

With a deep, calming breath, Jack stepped into the thicket of trees, decidedly leaping up onto their lower branches after a second's thought. Leaping from branch to branch, he followed the spirit's energy to a small clearing, making sure to stay hidden in the trees, his own energy low. There, on the edge of the clearing, a small, black mass was huddled at the base of a large tree. It was Pitch.

How or why the nightmare bringer had come this far north was of no importance to Jack at the moment. Instead, the boy simply wondered, strangely enough, if he was okay. Without considering the consequences, Jack leapt down from the trees and sprinted over to the crumpled spirit.  
"Pitch!" he called out, surprised at the urgency in his own voice. Pitch didn't stir. Only now was Jack able to see the thin sheet of ice that covered the spirit.

Cursing under his breath, Jack reached out, careful not to add to the frost, and gently shook Pitch's shoulders. It took about a minute for the spirit to stir, eyes opening thickly to search momentarily before settling on Jack's face. Pitch's eyes were clouded in a way that made Jack think of dead animals, lying on the side of the road in winter, bodies frozen by rigor mortis as well as the cold. He suppressed a shudder.  
"Pitch," he said, almost gently. "What are you doing out here?" To Jack's utter surprise, Pitch smiled slightly. It was a gentle smile.  
"Jack Frost..." he said breathily, as thought the very act of speaking took all his energy. "Did you find your memories?"  
" What?" Jack asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. But Pitch did not answer, appearing to faint beneath Jack's grip.

* * *

"I know. I know," Jack protested, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "He's the bad guy. I get it." Jack had been explaining to North for the last half hour exactly why he had shown up at his doorstep with and unconscious Fearling and a plea for help.  
"But hear me out..."  
"Jack, I have been hearing you out for almost an hour. Still I do not understand why you are bringing him here," North protested, folding his arms across his chest.  
"Because!" Jack exclaimed, exasperated. "I felt like it was my duty, as a Guardian," he added with a waggle of his finger, "to make sure that Pitch was out of the cold. Honestly, would you have left him there to die?"  
"He was not dying," North rumbled.  
"No? Because I felt his energy fading. His eyes were clouded over. _Clouded_! I've never seen that before..." Jack ended breathlessly, sitting on the edge of North's workbench, wrapping one bare foot around his staff.

North eyed him wearily, sadness behind his gaze. He was aware of the loneliness that Jack felt, and the terrible future Jack saw for himself when he looked at Pitch.  
"You are right," he admitted softly. "I would have done same thing."  
"I want to help him," Jack said definitively. "Do you know what he said to me? The first thing he said when he gained enough consciousness to speak?" North shook his head, taking the question as non-rhetorical.  
"He asked me if I had found my memories," Jack said with a small, bitter laugh. "He's the one that gave them back to me! Of course he knew I had found my memories. Why would he ask about...?" Jack cut his question short, eyes narrowing in thought.  
"North... who was Pitch before he became... The Boogeyman?"

North looked taken aback. He scratched thoughtfully at the chin beneath his full, white beard, eyes staring blankly out into space.  
"No one?" he ventured with a shrug, but Jack shook his head, pointing accusingly.  
"Oh no, he had to have been someone. Tooth said so herself, we're all some one before we're chosen."  
"But Pitch was not _chosen_, Jack. Not in same way _we_ were chosen," North argued, taking Jack's shoulder's in his large hands and lifting the boy off his bench as though he were weightless.  
"Maybe not," Jack said, jerking indignantly out of North's grip. "But he had to be someone. He _was_ someone. I can feel it... In my belly," he added with a smile. This caused North to laugh boomingly, slapping Jack on the back.  
"Well, that I am willing to trust," North conceded. Then, in a more serious tone, added, "But how do you expect to find this out? Who Pitch was?"  
"Maybe with a little bit of kindness?" Jack offered with a half smile. "And asking the right questions, of course." This time, North let out a short, sarcastic laugh.  
"Kindness is not something Pitch will be accepting," he said skeptically.  
"Who knows? Maybe it's all he ever needed..." Jack mused, thinking from a personal perspective. "Think about the world, North. The world is old and filled with magic. Good magic," Jack emphasized. "Evil doesn't really exist on its own. It's created. It's unnatural! Pitch's fear is something born out of the human mind," Jack rambled, beginning to pace.  
"If he was human once, which I'm sure he was, then something made him this way." Jack strode over to stand directly in front of North.  
"And I'm going to find out what."

Jack stealthily entered the large guest chamber where he and North had placed Pitch. He crept quietly over to the large bed, a crackling fire casting an orange glow across the room, making the deep shadows pooling in the corners flicker erratically. The room was fast growing too warm for Jack's taste and he felt an itching desire to be somewhere cooler. Yet he stayed.

Pitch looked small and fragile in the large, feather bead, completely out of place amidst the colorful, hand-knit quilts. The firelight danced across his gray skin, his face completely relaxed, and Jack saw for the first time how Pitch might have been considered handsome once.

He and North had both emphatically agreed that the other Guardians didn't need to know Pitch was here. Or what Jack planned to attempt. Swallowing thickly, Jack hopped up onto the tall bed, crawling tentatively over to the sleeping Fearling.  
"Pitch," Jack whispered. The spirit did not stir.  
"Hey. Pitch," Jack tried again, his voice louder. He almost jumped back off the bed as Pitch shifted slightly beneath the covers, squeezing his eyes together before opening them slowly. They had cleared a bit, but were still too foggy to be normal. For the second time that night, the focus of Pitch's gaze was directly on Jack.  
"Where am I?" he asked, his voice deep with sleep and heavy with suspicion.  
"Don't worry about that right now," Jack avoided, "You're safe."  
"Safe in the care of the Guardians? Oh, I feel so lucky." Pitch's voice dripped with a kind of tired sarcasm as he let his eyes trail up to the ceiling before searching around the room. Jack huffed, strangely pleased the spirit was up for the usual banter.  
"No. Not the Guardians. Just me," Jack clarified, his voice cracking slightly to his embarrassment. Pitch's tired eyes looked mildly surprised before his brow furrowed in confusion.  
"You? Why?" he snapped. Jack was thinking up an appropriate answer when he suddenly noticed that the spirit's arms hadn't moved from beneath the blankets and that he was still shivering slightly. _Either he's afraid of me, trusts me, or he's just really cold_, Jack thought to himself.

"Why were you out in the middle of the Canadian woods, half frozen?" Jack asked as a counter. Pitch averted his gaze, mumbling something under his breath. Something about being nosy and leaving him there.  
"What was that?" Jack prodded, knowing he sounded patronizing.  
"It was none of your concern and you should have rightly left me there," Pitch said fiercely, his voice hoarse.  
"What, to die?" Jack snapped, furrowing his brow as Pitch sighed in resignation.  
"Yes," he said in a small voice that wasn't quite his own, leaving Jack to feel slightly numb. He swallowed with some effort, his mouth suddenly very dry.  
"So, you can die?"  
"So can you, Jack Frost," the Fearling breathed, making the statement sound both seductive and threatening.

"But..." Jack began, "But you said it yourself, there will always be fear," he argued, feeling like he was missing something.  
"Of course there will always be fear," Pitch spat weakly.  
"It's all humans do. Fear. Fear for the future, for their families, for their own pathetic lives. They fear change, they fear difference, and most of all… they fear death." The last word lingered on Pitch's tongue like the name of an old friend.  
"Death, to humans, is the ultimate unknown. They spend their whole lives obsessing over death, be it through one way or another. And then, one day, they die. You died, Jack, before you became the spirit of Winter." Pitch smiled thinly, his eyes shining with mischief as he sensed the slight tingling of fear in the back of Jack's mind.

Jack stifled his gut reaction, moving backwards slightly. He knit his eyebrows together, seeing this as an opening.  
"Did you die, too? Before you became the Boogeyman?" he asked, trying not to sound too eager. Pitch's expression fell, eyes growing wide.  
"What... did you just ask?" he stuttered. Jack was about to repeat his question when Pitch suddenly jerked backwards, attempting to slide away from Jack, scrambling against the headboard.  
"I wasn't... _anyone_," Pitch spat angrily, eyes glistening clearly in the firelight. The fog was gone, replaced with... fear.  
"You had to be!" Jack pressed, trying to keep his voice level. This was good, or so he told himself. "We were all somebody..."  
"I am only fear! I was never anything else!" Pitch yelled shrilly, pressing himself into the pillows in order to get away from Jack. Sympathy was quickly replaced by frustration and anger.  
"You were!" Jack yelled back, reaching out to grab Pitch by the shoulders. The nightmare spirit yelped as though he had been burned, staring wide-eyed at Jack, his chest heaving rapidly like a caged rabbit. Maybe this method was too extreme. _So be it._ Pitch squirmed beneath him, squeezing his eyes shut as if to shut Jack out, but he would not give up so easily.  
"Remember!" Jack commanded, pressing Pitch's shoulders back into the pillows with strength he didn't know he possessed. He could feel something moving inside of Pitch, like two energies crashing against one another in a struggle for dominance. He saw Pitch' facial expression harden as the stronger one felt like it was about to win.

Then Jack did something he didn't quite plan. He took Pitch's face in his cold hands, desperately locking eyes with the other spirit.  
"REMEMBER!" Jack shouted. He almost gasped as Pitch's eyes flashed dark, forest green.  
"I CAN'T!" Pitch finally yelled back. "I can't remember anything!" he cried desperately, hands flying up to wrap around Jack's wrists as he attempted to turn his face away from the shocked winter spirit.  
"No, look at me," Jack commanded steadily, softly, turning Pitch's face back towards him, staring intently into his fearful, darting eyes.  
"Your..." Jack began, his voice cracking slightly. Pitch continued to stare at him apprehensively.  
"Your eyes," Jack choked out, staring into the dark green eyes. "They're... they've _changed_."

Pitch scrunched up his face in sudden confusion, and when Jack looked again, his eyes were back to the deep gold they were before.  
"What on earth are you on about?" he spat, his voice changing timbre. Jack sat back, letting go of Pitch's face, the Fearling letting go of his wrists at the same time.  
"I saw it. Your eyes changed colors," Jack insisted.  
"That's preposterous," Pitch countered, looking off to the side momentarily before glancing down at where Jack was sitting. He cracked a wry smile.  
"Of course, if you were just looking for excuses, by all means, do continue," he offered, leering and crossing his thin arms.

Confused, Jack looked down only to realize that he was straddling Pitch's thin hips. He leapt off the bed in one sweeping motion, landing on his feet a few paces away in front of the large fire, hoping the shadows would hide the embarrassing flush that had just appeared on his face. Pitch looked smug.

"Very funny," Jack huffed. "But don't think I'm going to forget what I saw."  
"I don't expect you to forget any of what just happened," Pitch sighed, rolling over onto his right side, facing away from Jack.  
"I want to help you, Pitch," Jack said after a moment of silence. A muffled scoff came from the heap of blankets.  
"You were right, you know," Jack conceded, leaning against his staff. Pitch stilled beneath the covers, clearly waiting for Jack to continue.  
"About being lonely... I _was_ lonely. And you're _still_lonely," he said gently, but with determination. "And I have a feeling that, if we find out who you were, you won't have to be lonely anymore."

There was no reply from Pitch. The spirit stayed buried beneath the covers, still facing away from Jack. After a long moment, Jack turned and left the room, locking the door behind him.

* * *

Pitch slept fitfully. He trashed beneath the covers of the featherbed, caught in the midst of turbulent dreams. They were mere flashes of images, nothing coherent. Pitch couldn't seem to catch his balance in the dream, swaying unsteadily back and forth, falling over, feeling too tired to get up again or even move his muscles. His garments were heavy, maybe metal, definitely not the light, black robe he wore in the waking world. Then, the darkness came. It swept over him from behind, crawling up his legs, wriggling obscenely against his flesh. He tried to cry out for help, but found he had no voice. He felt the darkness consume him, _penetrate_him, until there was nothing left. He became the fear he felt, knowing nothing else.

Pitch woke with a start, a hoarse yell escaping his throat. His was sweating despite the intense cold he felt in his bones. Jack sat beside him on the edge of the bed, looking on with concern.  
"You were having a nightmare," Jack explained softly.  
"That's impossible," Pitch spat, voice weak, his upper lip curling in disgust. He felt an intense migraine coming on and let out a soft groan as he felt Jack's cool hands wrap around his shoulders, pressing against the back of his burning neck, leaning him forward to place a pillow behind his back.  
"You're burning up," Jack commented under his breath, his face mere inches from the spirit as he arranged the pillows behind him.  
"You're hands are freezing cold," replied Pitch between his teeth. Jack let go abruptly, allowing Pitch fall back into the soft pillows, sufficiently propped up.  
"Yeah, well you've been out for about a day. I brought you something to drink. It's... hot, and supposedly medicinal," Jack explained in a distracted manner, holding the steaming tea bowl out for Pitch to take.  
"Did North make it? You're sure it's not poisoned?" Pitch asked with a lifted eyebrow, reaching out to take the drink anyways.  
"I told you, North is on my side, and I'm here to help you. Not kill you. You were doing a good enough job of that on your own," Jack commented, flinching internally at his own callousness. Pitch looked unruffled, taking a thoughtful sip of the brew without saying anything further.

They sat there in silence for a moment.  
"Why did you do it?" Jack asked finally.  
"Do what?" Pitch countered sharply, looking over the rim of the tea bowl with narrowed eyes.  
"Try to kill yourself." There was a brief pause before Pitch sighed, allowing the tea bowl to rest in his lap, long fingers wrapped tightly around it, leeching its warmth.  
"I didn't _try to kill myself_," Pitch said with a disgusted tone. "I was simply going to allow myself to die."  
"What's the difference? I mean, why?" Jack pressed, eyes narrowed in confusion. In all his years of loneliness, Jack had contemplated death and what it would mean for something like him to die, a spirit, but never did he think he or any other immortal being could accomplish such an act. Only Pitch's warnings of the consequences of being a Guardian caused him to think twice about such a matter.

"Oh come now, Jack. After you all rose up against me, what did I have left? I spent nearly a month running from my own creations. All I could feel was terror and that crushing feeling that you know all too well. _Not being believed in._ When I could run no more, the fear was finally gone, replaced with mere acceptance. I was ready to _die_, if you will. Although we don't really die, us spirits. Our forms simply melt away." Pitch explained everything so matter-of-factly, with a detached sort of interest, as though he were retelling a story that he had grown tired of.  
"I'm not a Guardian, Jack," Pitch said calmly, looking up into Jack's eyes with a fierce confidence that made his stomach clench. "The children would never save me."

"Maybe you were once," Jack said without thinking.  
"Oh will you shut it with the past life nonsense!" Pitch snapped suddenly, sloshing a bit of his tea about. "I was never anything other than what I am. Get that through you frozen head!"  
"That's what I thought!" Jack protested unfazed, hopping up to perch nimbly on the footboard of the bed. "I thought that I hadn't been _anything_ before Jack Frost! But I was! I was alive, I had a family!" Jack proclaimed, unable to hide the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth.  
"Wouldn't you want to know if you had... a family?" he asked tentatively, arms resting on his knees as he peered through his bangs. Pitch was looking at his tea, an unreadable expression on his face. A long silence stretched between them, the only sounds in the room being the sporadic crackling of the dying fire and a dull whistle of the wind outside in the dark northern night.

"Yes," Pitch said so quietly that Jack thought he might have imagined the answer. Then Pitch scrunched up his nose, shaking his head vigorously.  
"I mean no! No! I..." he reached up with one hand to cover his face with those long, thin fingers.  
"I don't know if I want to know who I was, Jack Frost," he admitted softly, causing Jack's heart to beat faster. Now they were getting somewhere.  
"If I am what I am now, then... I must have been a terrible human... to become the bringer of nightmares..." Pitch whispered, and Jack saw his eyes glistening with withheld tears. Green eyes.

Jack leapt forward, wanting to keep the green-eyed Pitch around longer this time. He landed lightly next to Pitch on the bed, taking the tea from his lap to set it on the bedside table. The fire had died down to mere embers now, a comfortable darkness settling on the room.  
"You can never know until you know for sure," Jack said lowly. Green-eyed Pitch nodded once, never breaking eye contact.  
"I suppose that is true," he breathed.

"And come one," Jack laughed airily. "You don't seem like that bad of a guy, deep down." He poked at Pitch's chest, causing the older spirit to chuckle deeply, casting his eyes downward briefly before looking up again. He reached up and placed a gentle hand on Jack's shoulder, taking him aback.  
"You are a kind spirit, Jack. I am honored to have met you."

The words that came out of Pitch's mouth were so strange that Jack almost swore he imagined them. Then, in the fading firelight, Jack saw Pitch smile. It was the same smile from the night before, when Jack had found him, only now the spirit's eyes were clear. And they were a brilliant green.

Behind them, the door slammed open causing Pitch to jump and Jack to leap to his feet, staff at the ready.  
"What in the bloody blue blazes is going on here?" yelled a black silhouette with an Australian accent. E. Aster Bunnymund sprang into the room, illuminated by the dying fire.  
"Are you off your rocker, Frost?" Bunny yelled, motioning wildly towards the spirit on the bed behind him, his other paw wrapped tightly around a boomerang.  
"Calm down, Bunny, I can explain," Jack offered, making a calming gesture with his outstretched hand, his other still clasping his staff defensively. He turned to look back at Pitch. Cool, yellow eyes gazed back at him, looking nothing more than annoyed at the Pooka's presence. _Damn, back to square one_, Jack thought absently, turning back to face Bunny.

"I don't want any bleedin' explanations," Bunny roared. "I want his arse kicked out of here!" He took a step forward, his other paw going for the second boomerang.  
"Don't you dare draw your weapons," Jack growled, his other hand flying to his staff, pulling it up to aim directly at Bunny's chest. The other Guardian stepped back, ears perked forward, a disbelieving look on his face.  
"So that's how it is then?" he let out a cold laugh, lowering his boomerangs. "You've gone and turned on us? So quickly?" Jack was surprised by the hurt behind his voice, as though he truly believed Jack would do such a thing.  
"I haven't turned on anyone," Jack said in a calm, yet annoyed voice. "I'm simply trying to right an old wrong. Plus Pitch is sick and defenseless. Didn't North explain anything to you? What are you even doing here?"  
"I tried to explain!" North said from the doorway, waving awkwardly at Pitch who simply rolled his eyes and stared at the far corner.  
"And I'm here..." Bunny began, then paused, looking slightly sheepish. "Well mate, I was here looking for you. Hadn't heard from you since..." he glanced at Pitch, eyes narrowing. "In a while. I just wanted to make sure you were faring all right, what being a new Guardian and all that."

Jack lowered his staff, slightly abashed. "I appreciate that, Bunny," he said, sounding as sincere as he could. "I'm sorry that... I'm sorry about the misunderstanding here. But you have got to start trusting me. I haven't turned or… anything like that." Bunny's eyes darted between the two of them as he spoke.  
"Alright. Tell me why he's here," Bunny sighed, sheathing both his boomerangs and squatting down on his hind legs. North entered the room as well and Jack felt Pitch shift uncomfortably behind him.  
"How about we go to North's quarters? He isn't really up for all this... socializing," Jack offered, motioning behind his back. Bunny gave one last glare before silently shuffling out of the room, followed closely by North, giving Jack a sympathetic look and a shrug.

"You should... get some rest," Jack suggested, turning around to look at Pitch. He brought his hand up to feel the spirits forehead, causing Pitch to jerk back with wide eyes.  
"Whoa it's cool," Jack laughed nervously, placing his hand solidly on Pitch's forehead.  
"You're still pretty warm."  
"Your hands are still cold," Pitch muttered, flashing a half smile. Jack smiled in return and leaned on his staff.  
"What can I say? It's kind of my trademark, being cold and all that." He smiled in, what he hoped, was a charming manner. Pitch seemed oddly receptive, chuckling at Jack's attempt at small talk, which just came out as flirting.  
"If you don't hurry up you'll be late for your little gathering."  
"Ah, right. Okay… All right. I'll be back to check on you afterwards. Get some rest and… stuff. Okay. Bye!"

Jack scurried out of the room, closing the door quickly behind him. Pitch laughed quietly to himself, moving the pillows behind him to the best of his ability; his arms still felt heavy and weak, like moving through water. He wasn't sure if he'd ever feel strong again. Settling back down into bed, his head swam with strange thoughts: his past, his present condition, the strangely kind Jack Frost with his cool, quiet hands, and right before he drifted off to sleep, he saw the face of a small girl with dark black hair, sparkling green eyes, and a loving smile. Then he saw nothing at all.

* * *

"And then his eyes turned green. Green! I think maybe..." Jack was pacing back and forth in North's sitting room, as far away from the blazing fire as possible. Bunny and North sat with their backs to the flames, listening intently.  
"Maybe there are... two forces at work inside Pitch. I think you were right, North." Jack said, turning to face the large man. "Pitch wasn't chosen. He was... I don't know, _forced_ to be the way he is."  
"Yea?" Bunny let out a laugh of disbelief. "He seems to enjoy it all an awful lot to have been "forced" into this. The guy is playing you, Frost. This green-eyed trick is just a ploy to get you to let your guard down, which you've clearly done. He's tricked you before, what makes you think he won't do it again?"

Jack flushed slightly in embarrassment, remembering how he had already let the Guardians down once because of Pitch.  
"After... denying that he had a past," Jack continued, ignoring Bunny's question, "He said that he was afraid of knowing who he was." He looked up to meet Bunny's gaze before looking to North.  
"He said that he must have been a terrible human to have become a nightmare bringer. And that's when his eyes turned green."

The other two Guardians exchanged silent glances. Jack took a couple of deep breaths before continuing.  
"Call me crazy, but it kind of sounds like there's a different Pitch in there who's been woken up by something. And I think the green-eyed Pitch has been kept down by the other guy for... who knows how long. I'm just the first one to come along and..." Jack paused, sighing. "And ask."

North exhaled loudly, giving Bunny and imploring look before patting him firmly on the back.  
"Jack, you know I am here with you in all this crazy," North said with a smile and a flourish of his large hands. "But I also agree with what Bunny says. You must keep your guard always up with Pitch. Always."  
"Otherwise, who knows what the nutter might try? Manny sure doesn't. We don't! He's unpredictable is all." Bunny loped over to where Jack stood, the winter spirit feeling oddly chastised.  
"You're one of us now, mate," Bunny said with a sideways smile. "We look out for one another. Even if you are an annoying little bugger sometimes, you've really proven yourself."

Jack was suddenly compelled to hug the large Pooka, thinking it would probably be an extremely pleasant experience, but refrained at the last moment, going in for an amiable paw-shake instead.  
"I'm... thank you," was all Jack could manage.  
"But d'you mind telling me what exactly you think will happen once Pitch finds out who he used to be?"  
"No idea," Jack said with a lopsided grin. "But, I feel totally confident that it isn't gonna be scary or terrible at all."

At that minute, a blood curdling scream ripped its was down the hallway.  
"Pitch," Jack whispered before taking off at a sprint, Bunny and North fast on his heels. He burst into the room where Pitch lay to find the spirit writhing uncontrollably on the bed, face strained in what appeared to be severe pain.  
"Pitch!" Jack yelled, leaping across the room in a single bound to land atop the bed, straddling the thrashing Fearling, who was clearly in the throes of a vivid nightmare.  
"Pitch, wake up! Wake up! It's just a bad dream!" Jack begged, the irony not escaping him as his hands wrapped around Pitch's shoulders to firmly shake him. The spirit threw his eyes open, flailing his arms and accidentally hitting Jack in the face.  
"Ow! Ow, calm down. It's okay..." Jack threw a glance at Bunny, who had drawn his boomerangs and stood in the ready position, ears back, eyes darting nervously between Jack, Pitch, and North, who simply stood imposingly in the doorway.

"Jack," Pitch pleaded after he came to his senses, his voice hoarse. "It's the darkness... it... it used her voice!" he half sobbed, burying his face into Jack's chest. "It used her voice..."

Pitch's physical body was shutting down, or at least attempting to. Whatever had transpired between the night he was defeated and the night Jack found him had caused his body to go to war with itself. Jack watched the raging battle from a chair at the side of Pitch's bed as the spirit attempted to sleep. His chest was heaving, forehead glistening with sweat. Now Jack understood what he meant when he said _let myself die_. It appeared that he hadn't been able to stop the process, even when Jack interrupted him. Worst of all, Jack felt like his attempt to uncover Pitch's memories was making the whole thing worse.

It was around mid morning, Jack having stayed the rest of the night by Pitch's side, bringing him back to reality every time he awoke from his nightmares. Heaving a heavy sigh, Jack rose from the small arm chair and left the room, Pitch having finally calmed down enough to be on his own. Bunny was still hanging around North's workshop and Jack planned to seek a bit of council. He meandered through the long, empty hallways, marveling at the intricately carved wooden tables and long, hand-woven runners that covered the ancient wood floor. All the Yetis were toiling away in preparation for Christmas. According to North, if they finished before Thanksgiving they'd get a small vacation up until Christmas Eve.

Jack entered the large, indoor arboretum off of the west wing of North's labyrinth. It was basically a giant greenhouse in the middle of the North Pole. The large, domed glass roof was slightly steamy with the contrast of inside and outside temperatures, and the whole place seemed to be humming with the most basic magic of Mother Nature. Jack immediately felt uncomfortable in the warmth, but knew that Bunny was probably lurking somewhere inside.

Hopping up onto a low stone fence that followed the dirt path, Jack teetered his way towards the center. He could sense the other Guardian not too far away and soon stumbled upon him sitting quietly by a gentle steam in the meditative position.  
"Hey Bunny..." Jack greeted softly, feeling slightly guilty about rousing him from his... whatever someone does when they meditate.  
"Frost," he replied in recognition, unmoving. Jack inhaled the clear, steamy air.  
"Can I... talk to you? If you're not busy that is."  
"Not at all," replied Bunny, opening his eyes and hopping up to a standing position. He turned around to face Jack with a sideways smile. "What's on your noggin?"  
"It's about Pitch..." Jack tested, scrunching up his face as he saw Bunny stiffen and straighten up his shoulders.  
"What about Pitch?" the Pooka huffed, clearly still sensitive and somewhat unwilling to breach the subject.  
"Well, you're all about new life and fresh beginnings and all that, so I figured you might be able to give me some advice on how to..." Jack paused, cowering as if preparing for a blow. "Heal him?"

Bunny scoffed, turning around and sitting down next to the river again. Jack stepped forward and settled down beside him.  
"Listen, mate," he began softly, "I don't know if there are new beginnings for things like Pitch."  
"He's not a thing," Jack interjected.  
"Right..." Bunny said slowly, clearing his throat. "Well, hypothetically speaking then, I guess he's gotta get the blackness up."  
"The blackness?"  
"Yea. Blackness." Bunny moved closer to Jack, speaking in hushed tones. "I do think you're on to something there. I felt it when we walked in on him thrashin' about. There's some kind of... parasite inside that guy. I was ready to say that you'd cracked a fruity..." Bunny chuckled. "Gone crazy," he added after seeing Jack's expression.  
"Sometimes I think you use confusing Australian slang just because you can," Jack laughed, leaning back on his hands. Bunny shrugged with a smile.  
"Well, anyways, when I felt that... darkness, I knew that there was something else going on in that form of his."  
"So, you think that he needs to get rid of whatever parasite is inside of him? Then he'll be normal?" Jack pressed, trying not to sound excited. Bunny shrugged, leaning back as well.  
"Either that, or it'll destroy him... his body unable to take it. But there's really no way to tell until it happens."

Jack swallowed, losing the feeling in his arms and legs. What had he gotten himself into? Was he suddenly so invested in this Fearling that he wouldn't be able to handle the consequences if he... failed?  
"How exactly could he go about getting rid of the blackness?" Jack asked slowly.  
"I've absolutely no idea, but let me think on it," Bunny admitted with a frown. They sat in silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts as the stream gurgled gently in front of them.  
"Maybe you could bring him out here. Into this place," Bunny offered. "Keep old Green Eyes around for as long as you can, eh?"  
"Maybe," Jack shrugged.  
"All I know is that nature has a way of healing things."

Jack couldn't argue with that. He thanked Bunny for his time and promised to leave him alone for a while.  
"Ah bugger off, you know I don't mind. And you can call me Aster... if you'd like that is..."  
"Huh. Thats your first name? Didn't think you had one..." Jack joked, knowing full well what Bunny's full name was.  
"Shove off," Bunny said with a grin, giving Jack a playful push.  
"Alright, _Aster_, enjoy your Tai Chi or whatever it is you do."  
"See ya 'round, Jackie."

* * *

Jack returned to Pitch's room to find him awake. He sat in the darkened room staring blankly at the opposite wall, as still as a statue.  
"Hey, your up," Jack said softly, drawing Pitch's attention over to him.  
"Yes. I think I'm feeling better..." Pitch said, voice deep with the last remnants of sleep.  
"Are you feeling up for a walk?"  
"A walk? What, a jolly romp through the snow?" he asked with a breathy laugh, smirking at Jack. His tone was playful, but his eyes still appeared to be gold.  
"If you'd prefer," Jack said hopefully. "But I was thinking more along the lines of the arboretum. As it turns out, North _does_ get sick of all this snow," Jack proclaimed with mock surprise. Pitch laughed thinly.  
"Alright, take me there," he resigned.

Pitch was much weaker than Jack had assumed, having to lean heavily on Jack for most of the walk. Jack wasn't going to comment, but Pitch's face looked like it had lost some of its gray, making it more of a soft white. So far, Jack wasn't sure if that was a good thing.  
"Not much farther," Jack assured, struggling to support the larger spirit. Pitch nodded silently.

They reached the entrance of the arboretum within a few minutes, Pitch shambling in and taking a deep breath, seeming to gain strength from the air itself. _Huh, maybe the kangaroo was right_, Jack thought.  
"Well I must say, I'm rather impressed," Pitch exclaimed, his voice growing warmer as he turned to look at Jack. "This certainly is a change of pace."  
"I hope so..." Jack mumbled to himself as Pitch walked out ahead of him. He sensed Aster near by, probably watching from the trees to make sure nothing went awry.

Pitch walked steadily along the path in front of Jack, hands behind his back, long cloak trailing behind him as he looked from tree to tree.  
"It is beautiful in here..." he commented, seemingly speaking to the trees. He wandered off the path, Jack following closely behind. They approached the small river that cut through the center of the greenhouse, irrigating the plants with the glacial melt. Pitch leaned over to gaze into the water, his eyes flashing dark green in the reflection, mumbling what sounded like _lovely_under his breath.

With what sounded like battle cry, Aster leapt out of the brush and shoved Pitch into the icy water with one of his large feet.  
"WHAT THE HELL?" yelled Jack, preparing to dive in after Pitch, but Aster held him back.  
"Wait a tick, Jackie. Just watch."  
Pitch was submerged for a minute before his head broke the surface with a loud gasp. He quickly paddled over to the river bank pulling himself out on hands and knees.  
"Are you...?" Jack stopped as Pitch began to shudder, looking like he was about to throw up. Sure enough, he did, a large inky mass shooting out of his mouth. Jack looked on, astonished.

The mass bubbled and sizzled on the grass for a moment, then _began to move_.  
"Freeze it!" Aster shouted. Jack obeyed, hitting the squirming stuff with a blast of freezing air, effectively stopping it. Jack dropped his staff and moved to help the struggling Fearling out of the river.  
"What was that?" Jack asked, eyes darting between the Easter spirit and the shivering Pitch.  
"_That _was the effect running water has on evil things," Aster explained with a smug smile. "Turns out you we right, Jack." His eyes moved to Pitch. "There is something in there that shouldn't be."

Pitch looked up at the Pooka, large green eyes wide with questions.  
"What exactly do you mean?" he asked through chattering teeth. Jack smirked triumphantly at Aster's shocked expression. Not only were Pitch's eyes now green, but there also appeared to be even less gray in his complexion.  
"I... I mean that... We can probably get it out of you," Aster stuttered, ears turned back in shock.  
"That..." Pitch began breathlessly. "Would be wonderful."

Jack escorted the shaking Pitch back to his dark room, asking a passing Yeti for something dry for Pitch to wear. With a red face, he helped the spirit remove his soaked cloak, eyes darting around the room as Pitch crawled beneath the covers with a sigh.  
"I feel strangely... lighter," Pitch commented, seemingly oblivious to Jack's discomfort.  
"Yeah? That's good..." Jack cracked, trying desperately not to eye the clearly defined outline of Pitch's body beneath the covers. "Do you have any idea what just happened?" he continued, moving to hang up the damp robe by the freshly stoked fire.  
"It's been coming back to be in disjointed images," Pitch said vaguely.  
"What had just happened?"  
"No, my memories," he clarified, turning his deep green eyes to look at Jack. "I've been remembering things, Jack. Things I had forgotten ever existed."

Jack swallowed, moving towards the bed. A knock at the door froze him mid step. He strode to answer, taking the dry dressing gown from the large, hairy hands that poked through the door, bumping it closed with his hips as they retracted.  
"Here's something dry to put on," Jack offered, holding the red, silken... thing up to eye level.  
"Just lay them at the end of the bed," Pitch said, motioning to his feet. "I'm enjoying this." He smiled slightly, scooting backwards to sit up, letting the covers fall to his waist, his sleek upper torso completely exposed.

Sirens went off in Jack's head, as he felt his gut tighten. _Oh no_, he thought frantically, _I am __**not**__ allowed to be attracted to this guy_. Of course, Jack wasn't usually attracted to anyone in particular. If anything, he hoped Tooth might make a stronger move some day, and sometimes Aster's touch and soft smile made his stomach flutter, but he chocked those up to the three-hundred years of isolation and a desperate need for physical contact. But this... was different. Pitch looked at him with questioning eyes, a glint of mischief lingering in the corners. Did he...? Could he... sense what Jack was feeling?

Jack forced his legs to move, his staff nestled in the crook of his arm as he placed the robe on the foot of the bed. Green-eyed Pitch smiled in a kindly manner at him from the pillows before gently patting at the open space beside him. _Damn it all_, Jack thought, hopping eagerly onto the bed and settling down to sit cross legged, facing the... naked spirit, trying his best to look nonchalant.  
"Tell me about what you've remembered so far," Jack suggested, trying to keep his voice steady. Pitch nodded thoughtfully, staring into the fire.  
"Almost everything came to me in the most recent dream..." he looked up at Jack. "Here, it'll be... easier if I show you." He placed a long hand across Jack's eyes, suddenly hurtling him into darkness. Into Pitch's dream.

_The room of cages hummed with the dark energy of the fearlings, all rattling their cages and calling out to the guards down below. I stood beneath them, gazing up into the dark masses that leered down at me with golden eyes and pointed teeth.  
"Let us out, love! Come on... Be a good sport!" they called and jeered, laughing and baring their teeth. I curled up my lip in distaste and strode out, my long red cape billowing behind me. The guard at the door saluted me.  
"General," he said.  
"Commander," I replied, "The western troops are bringing in several dream pirates from the Belastian shore. I'm going to go prepare their holding cells. Keep a special eye out in here. You know how they get when new ones show up," I said, motioning over my shoulder with a tilt of my head.  
"Yes, sir."_

_With that I strode through the doorway, walking down the winding bridge that spanned the deep chasm of the underground prison. They were filled with creatures that plagued the dreams of the innocent, fearlings and dream pirates. They were malevolent, but only strong in large numbers, or when they had a particularly powerful vessel.  
The rift beneath me descended down into total darkness, seemingly never ending. I veered off to the right, descending a steep spiral staircase that lead to one of the most secured holding chambers. It was carved into the solid, black rock of the mountainside.  
I pushed open the heavy wooden door, wards running through its grains to keep the prisoners at bay. The hanging metal cages rattled above me as some of the fiercer fearlings acknowledged my entrance.  
"Today's the day, Pitchiner!" one of them called. "You're gonna let us out and then we shows you how it's really done... Being a general and wot all." This comment was followed by a chorus of sickening laughter.  
"Silence!" I shouted as fiercely as I could, but I was tired, and they could sense my weariness. I turned my back and grappled for the locket I kept in my inner coat pocket, pulling it out and shakily opening it. The beautiful, perfect face of my daughter looked out at me, green eyes sparkling in the dim light of the prison. Light of my life. She gave me strength. I'll see you soon, my dear._

_"Father!" a small voice cried in the distance, barely audible.  
My blood froze in my veins as the small hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.  
"Father! I'm scared!" it cried again.  
I whirled around, eyes darting between the cages. Impossible.  
"Help! Its so dark... I want to go home."  
"Where are you?" I called, my rational mind telling me it wasn't real, but another part wanting to believe it was more than anything. I began to stride forward, hand on the hilt of my sword.  
"Where are you, sweetheart? I'm here, I'll find you!" I called out desperately, picking up my pace. The fearlings jeered at me as a stumbled through the cages. I could hear her crying up ahead. My legs moved as though they were on strings, pulling me forward by the sheer desperation to find my beloved.  
"Father!" she sobbed weakly.  
"I'm coming precious! Hold on!"_

_And then, without warning, there she was, dressed completely in white, sitting in one of those horrid cages, her head in her small, pale hands. My vision tunneled and I felt myself walking forward, drawn by something other than my own will.  
"I'm here..." I whispered, tears stinging my eyes as I continued to walk. She looked up suddenly, her eyes burning gold. __**Wrong, wrong, wrong!**__ I tried to stop moving forward, but my body wouldn't obey.  
"Please, let me out Father," she begged again, only this time her voice was that of a thousand fearlings.  
"Yes, my princess..." I mumbled, kneeling down and taking out my keys, slowly inserting the master key into the lock. I felt the room begin to vibrate with the energy of the fearlings, humming in anticipation.  
"Thank you, Father. I love you," she said with a smile that was not her own. My cheeks were wet with tears.  
"I love you, too, precious."  
The cage door swung open, darkness consumed me._

* * *

Jack gasped as he came to, feeling his own eyes brimming with tears as he looked up at Pitch, who sat calmly across from him, green eyes glistening in the firelight.  
"You... You had a daughter?" Jack croaked, reaching up to run a hand across his own face, still trying to shake the utter _realness_ of the dream. Pitch nodded slowly.  
"She is still a faint memory, but I could never forget her face," he said, smiling sadly, looking down at the covers. "Her mother had passed away giving birth to her. She was a spitting image… a fiery little girl filled with the curiosity of a kitten and the wisdom of a thousand ages," Pitch smiled fondly, eyes brimming with tears. Jack could only look on breathlessly for a moment as the once stoic soldier shivered before him.  
"So... Did the fearlings take over your body?" he pressed after a moment.  
"That I can only assume, seeing as I wasn't really conscious for the aftermath," Pitch said grimly, rubbing one thumb absently across his bony knuckles.  
"If we get them out of you... you'll just go back to normal, right?" Jack asked, smiling. Maybe Pitch could become a guardian, protecting dreams once more. Pitch inclined his head slightly.  
"That, I cannot say. This body has belonged to the fearlings for so long that fear is all it knows. If that part of me is completely destroyed... This physical form may also collapse."

Jack felt his heart sink. What was the point of all this if Pitch was still going to...?  
"No," Jack half yelled, causing Pitch to jerk back. "No, there has to be another way!"  
"Jack, please," Pitch implored calmly, placing a hand on Jack's shoulder, one finger brushing the bare skin at the base of his neck. "If I die, at least I die on my own terms. It was beginning to happen anyways. Some small part of me, the old me, was awake enough to will myself to die after the Guardians defeated me. I knew that I couldn't allow this..." he motioned to himself with one hand, "To continue."  
"But I want this to continue," Jack motioned as well, slightly embarrassed at the emotion in his voice. "I just want you to be... healed! General Pitchiner, not Pitch Black."  
"Jack..." Pitch said again, his voice maddeningly calm. Jack raged inside. He wanted Pitch to be angry, to show some damn emotion, not just sit there like it was all okay because it wasn't okay! Nothing that just happened was okay!  
"The world I knew is dead and gone. As…" he swallowed, blinking. "As is my daughter. There is no place for me now, not even as a General."  
"There's a place for you!" Jack protested shrilly, leaning forward and taking Pitch's face in his hands. "There is! And if there isn't, we'll find one! Or we'll make one! We will. We have to..." He hated how desperate he sounded and he hated how Pitch looked at him, eyes full of pity. Jack wasn't the one who needed pity. He wasn't the one dying.  
"You are a kind spirit, Jack," Pitch said for the second time, his finger lightly brushing against Jack's neck. "I'm sorry you were so lonely for so long."

Then something happened, and Jack wasn't quite sure who started it. All he knew is that they were kissing and neither one of them seemed at all surprised. Jack slid his hands up into Pitch's thick black hair, pulling, pressing him back down onto the bed as he moved to straddle his hips, knowing that he was being rougher than he should. But Jack didn't care. He just wanted to feel everything that Pitch was right there in that moment, to feel the long lost Pitchiner, a brave and valiant soldier and a protector of innocence. He felt Pitch's long, thin fingers trail up and under Jack's blue hoodie, ghosting across his skin as the other hand held Jack firmly behind the neck. He groaned into Pitch's mouth, one hand leaving his hair to trail down his lean chest and wrap around his thin waist, pulling his hips up possessively. Jack moved to bite at Pitch's long neck, heart thumping at the soft noise of pleasure that the spirit emitted.  
"Yes," he hissed, and Jack felt him swelling beneath the covers, his own, ratted pants becoming tighter.

It was all quickly becoming too much. With the combined heat of the fire and the burning body beneath him, Jack was afraid he might begin melt right there in that bed. Suddenly, he felt Pitch's weight shift, and he was unexpectedly flipped onto his back. With a yelp, Jack struggled to regain dominance, clawing at Pitch's exposed back as the older spirit ground up against Jack with bare hips, pressing his hot cheek against Jack's cool one and letting out a heady moan right into his ear.  
"Ah!" was all Jack could manage, his brain about to give out completely. Then Pitch looked down at him with a malevolent smile, golden eyes flashing in the dim light. Jack went rigid, quickly pressing his hands against Pitch's chest and throwing him off.  
"No!" Jack screamed, attempting to wriggle out of the bed. Pitch grabbed him by the thighs, pulling him back underneath him and pinned his arms down, eyes ablaze with lust.  
"What's the matter, _Jack_? Not up for a little _fun_?" He spit out the last word before leaning down to lick from the base of Jack's neck up to the corner of his eye. Jack yelped, his leg jerking up to knee Pitch in the stomach. The Fearling let go with an _oomph_and Jack scrambled away, toppling backwards off the bed.

The breath was nearly knocked out of him as he hit the solid wood floor, but he quickly regained his composure. Grabbing his staff, he crawled backwards across the floor until his back bumped against the large wooden door. Pitch laughed lowly from the bed, one arm folded over his stomach.  
"Such a tease, Jack. And to think of all the things I was going to let you do to me..."  
"I don't want to do anything with _you_!" Jack spat. This only caused Pitch to laugh again.  
"Oh but my dear boy, this is me. All of me." He punctuated each word. "Can't be picking and choosing which Pitch to shag now, can you?"

Jack didn't answer. Instead he scrambled to his feet and bolted out the door, locking it behind him. He slid down to sit on the floor once more, still shaking as he tried to think of his next move. _What have I done?_

* * *

After a brief retelling of the events that had just past, leaving out the kissing and grinding and moaning, Jack lead North and Aster to Pitch's room. He unlocked and opened the door cautiously, amazed that Pitch hadn't moved from the bed.  
"Ah, Jack," Pitch said dispassionately as they entered. "Back for more? Oh and you brought friends, how exciting!" Jack flushed in embarrassment, thankful that Pitch's taunts were vague.  
"Alright, little man," North rumbled, walking over to the bed. Jack derived at least a small amount of satisfaction from the look on Pitch's face.  
"What's going on?" he asked nervously. "You told me you wouldn't let them hurt me!" he exclaimed shrilly.  
"The game has changed," Jack said, allowing himself this small victory. North scooped the nude Pitch out of the large bed and threw him over his shoulder, completely unfazed by his nakedness.  
"Release me! Release me at once!" the squirming Fearling demanded, both attempting to cover himself and escape North's grip.  
"Enough with the squirming!" North boomed as they began to make their way out of the room and down the hall, Aster putting a steady paw on Jacks shoulder as they followed.

They entered the arboretum, North walking over to the glacial melt river and promptly dropping Pitch in. His scream of surprise was cut short as he was swallowed up by the slow moving river. There was a moment of silence before Pitch breached the surface, gasping for air. He paddled over to the riverbank, looking like a thoroughly drenched and angry cat. He was able to pull himself halfway out of the water before he began to make the heaving motions of imminent sickness. Then, just like the last time, an inky black mass slid out of Pitch's mouth sizzling on the grass before beginning to slide away from the water. Jack froze it quickly before picking up the large towel that he had brought and moving towards Pitch. He draped it across the spirit as he finally managed to pull himself fully onto the bank.  
"I'm... so sorry, Jack," he heaved, wracked with shivers and struggling to catch his breath as Jack vigorously rubbed his shoulders through the towel.

"Thought I don't know how many more times I'll be able to handle that," he said with a laugh, looking up at the three Guardians with his once-more green eyes.  
"Hopefully not many more times," North said with a warm smile. His smile faltered as Pitch's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fell forward onto the grass with a thud.

"Pitch!" Jack yelled, leaping forward to turn him on his back, resting the spirit's thin upper body against his own lap. The color had almost completely drained from his face, leaving his complexion milky white.  
"He doesn't look so good, mate," Aster said, nervously.  
"North, what do I do?" Jack pleaded, but the large Guardian gave him no reply. "Aster?" Jack tried, feeling a panic begin to rise in his chest. Aster shrugged helplessly, ears pressed back in distress as his gaze darted wildly about. Without another thought, Jack began to drag Pitch's limp body backwards towards the line of trees, using all his strength. Finally he fell back against the trunk of a large oak, pulling Pitch into his lap once more.  
"Use the tree!" he shouted at Aster who had hopped over.  
"What? Use it how?"  
"Use it's energy! To help him!"  
"Are you mad? I can't just use a tree! I have to be given permission..." Aster explained impatiently.  
"Then ask!" Jack yelled frantically, cradling Pitch's head in his arms. North stood off to the side near the entrance, barking emphatic directions to several Yetis.

Aster stood nervously at the base of the old oak for a moment before placing both paws on the thick trunk, muttering words in a language Jack did not recognize. There was silence for a few moments, seeming like and eternity to Jack. Then Aster turned to look at him.  
"The tree wants to know why they should help him?" He repeated sounding tired. Jack looked at the tree's branches above him, which swayed in a nonexistent wind, then down at Pitch, still unconscious and barely breathing.  
"Because he was a good man," Jack choked out. "And he has a great capacity..." Images of Pitch's long lost daughter swam before his eyes. "For love."

The tree hummed under Jack's back and Aster nodded slowly. Keeping one paw on the tree, Aster slowly lowered his other paw to press against Pitch's chest. A golden glow slowly began to form under his touch and Jack felt the pulse of magic underneath Pitch's skin like a surge of slow, comforting warmth. A thin trail of black, putrid-smelling smoke began to filter out of Pitch's mouth and nose, spiraling up into the air to quickly disappear with a shrill cry of pain. A slight flush spread over his milky flesh and he cracked his eyes open ever so slightly, looking up at Jack before closing them again, falling into what appeared to be a deep sleep. Several leaves fell from the tree in the silence that ensued.

After a moment, Jack looked up at Aster, whose ears now drooped downwards in a universal gesture of exhaustion.  
"He'll be fine," the Pooka assured in a wavering tone that made Jack think he was lying. "He just needs to sleep."  
"So do you, it seems," Jack said with a weary smile. Aster returned the smile and they shared a rare moment, finding comfort in the other. The heavy sound of footfall called both of their attentions back to the present as North and two Yetis stomped towards them with a medical stretcher. North lifted Pitch out of Jack's lap and onto the stretcher, covering him with the large towel.  
"I have told them to be taking him to infirmary," North explained to a worried looking Jack. "They have never really treated more than sick Elves with belly aches, but I feel it was appropriate place to keep him."  
"Yeah, probably. Thanks," Jack offered, gaining a small amount comfort in North's steady hands as they rested on his small shoulders.  
"It will be okay, Jack Frost," North said with a smile. "You have fought like brave soldier."  
"Thanks," Jack said again, feeling like a broken record. He glanced up at the glass ceiling of the arboretum, the sunlight already beginning to dim as the short winter day turned quickly into night.

* * *

"Do you know his real name?" Aster asked quietly as he and Jack sat in the large common room near the globe. Jack had situated himself as far away from the large fire as possible, grateful that the Pooka had chosen to follow him. They sat side by side on the floor, pressed against the far wall.

"His last name was Pitchiner, I think…" Jack supplied, rubbing his forehead. "I don't know what his first name was… He was a general thought. Which is pretty cool," he added with a smile. Aster gave him a weak half-smile before turning to look into the fire.

"Get him to tell you his name."

Jack dug the palms of his hands into his eyes, rubbing at them furiously.

"I feel exhausted," he admitted with a yawn.

"Well no wonder. You've been watching over this guy for several days now without a moments rest," Aster huffed out a laugh. "I'd say it's high time you took yourself on holiday."

"Yeah… Somewhere warm." They both laughed at the small attempt at a joke before fading into a comfortable silence. The fire crackled a bit as a log collapsed, the only other noise being the squeaking of floorboards above them as the Yetis prepared to halt production for the night.

"Should I feel guilty for not letting Sandy and Tooth in on this?" Jack asked finally. Aster shrugged, taking to polishing one of his boomerangs.

"No idea. Do you feel guilty?"

"A little… I feel like we're sneaking around behind their backs or something." Jack shrugged, sinking down lower against the wall.

"I wouldn't worry your frosty head over it too much," Aster suggested, squinting at his boomerang with one eye as he held it at arms length. Jack sighed loudly in reply, leaning over to bump up against Aster's shoulder. The Pooka paused briefly in his polishing, but otherwise didn't seem to mind. Jack felt his eyes become heavy as he struggled to stay awake. His efforts proved to be hopeless as his eyes began to slide shut and a dreamless sleep took hold of him.

In what seemed like only a few minutes later, Jack was awoken by Aster 's large paw gently shaking him.

"Wakey wakey, Frost. Pitch is up and asking for you," he explained in a low murmur. Jack stumbled sleepily to his feet before noticing the small crystals of ice that had formed on the fur of Aster's shoulder. He apologized quickly before stumbling down the hall. A Yeti greeted him and led him the rest of the way to the infirmary. Everything was extremely quiet and dark, telling Jack that he must have been out for a bit longer than he originally thought. His soft footfall seemed muffled in the thickness of the night, mostly drowned out by the heavy stomp of the Yeti in front of him. It muttered something unintelligible and motioned to a door at the far end of the hall. Jack nodded curtly and thanked his guide, proceeding warily on his own. As he drew closer, he noticed that a small light trickled out from beneath the door. Jack reached out a steady hand, unsure of what he was about to encounter.

The room was slightly longer than he had anticipated, containing six single beds, three on each wall, facing each other. They were all equipped with thick, quilted blankets and feather pillows. The last one on the right was occupied. A small overhead gas lamp flickered feebly as Jack walked slowly down the row of beds. His stomach was tight in anticipation, both hands clasped desperately around his staff. Pitch still seemed to be asleep as Jack approached him. However, cloudy green eyes slowly opened as Jack drew nearer.

"Jack Frost," Pitch whispered hoarsely with a smile, attempting to sit up.

"No, please don't move," Jack said softly, dropping his staff to grab Pitch by the shoulders. He felt thinner than usual and somewhere deep down, Jack knew that this was the end. His chest contracted and his hold on Pitch tightened as he fought back tears.

"How're you feeling, buddy?" he asked with a stupid smile and sad eyes.

"I've had better days," Pitch admitted weakly, bringing one long hand up to stroke the inside of Jack's wrist with his thumb.

"Yeah," was all Jack could say, laughing a little too loudly for the quiet room. What do you say to someone who's dying? Especially when they're ready… but you're not? Jack bent over, engulfing Pitch in what he knew to be an uncomfortably chilly hug, but he didn't care. The weak spirit below him encircled Jack with his thin arms, patting him comfortingly. He wore the red silken robes that had been lain out for him earlier.

"I just wanted to… help you…" Jack stuttered, breathing against Pitch's neck.

"You did, Jack. Don't try to convince yourself otherwise," Pitch assured softly, running his long fingers through Jack's hair. "To leave this realm with my own memories is a gift I never dreamed I would receive." He laughed breathily into Jack's ear.

"What's your name?" Jack blurted, pulling back to look at Pitch with frantic blue eyes.

"What do you mean?" Pitch asked tiredly, but patiently.

"Your name! You're real name. What is it?" Jack asked again, his voice cracking slightly. Pitch smiled and brought a hand up to Jack's face, pulling him down to place a chaste kiss upon his lips. Jack lingered for a moment on the kiss, making it last, before resting his forehead against Pitch's to enjoy the closeness. He pulled back.

"It is Kozmotis Pitchiner," Pitch said softly. Jack laughed despite himself, cold tears staining his cheeks.

"Cool name," he said, punctuating it with a loud sniff. Pitch smiled approvingly before leaning back into his pillow.

"Thank you, Jack. For everything," Pitch breathed out, closing his eyes like a man who was ready for a long sleep.

"No problem," Jack said with a smile, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his blue hoodie.

Without another word, he picked up his staff and walked backwards away from Pitch's bed. He turned around when he was halfway towards the door, pausing momentarily as his hand rested on the handle.

"Bye," he whispered to the door, before quickly exiting.

He found Aster curled up on his side and fast asleep in the large common room. Without waking him, Jack dropped down and crawled up next to him, the large Pooka unconsciously wrapping an arm around the small winter spirit. Jack lay awake for some time, tears frozen on his face. Finally, he drifted off to sleep.

He dreamed of a father and daughter walking hand in hand through a field of freshly fallen snow. The young girl bounced up and down excitedly in front of the man until he picked her up, spinning her around and laughing. Cradling her in his arms, he kissed her forehead gently, lovingly, before hoisting her onto one shoulder and continuing their walk.

* * *

_I find you still a spirit beautiful and bright…_


End file.
